


Truth and Honor

by JonathanAnubian, Shelaar (JonathanAnubian)



Series: The Ties That Bind [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Clones, Cuy'val Dar, Force Use, Force-Sensitive Clones (Star Wars), Haat Mando'ade, Kamino, M/M, Mandalorian Culture, Mando'a, No Galidraan Massacre, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Shovel Talk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22438708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonathanAnubian/pseuds/JonathanAnubian, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonathanAnubian/pseuds/Shelaar
Summary: While on a mission for the Jedi Council Justus Armaan, Padawan of Jedi Master Kaalix, lost his memories after a near fatal encounter with one faction of a civil war. Luckily for him he was found by a Mandalorian warrior who saved his life and took him under his wing. Now with the new name of Haati Kurshi'cin the boy will grow into a proper Mandalorian, with a little bit of Force antics on the side.Beginning after the end of Truth and Valor. This story is from Haati's perspective and spans the gap between Truth and Valor, and The Lady in White.
Relationships: Jango Fett & Boba Fett, Jango Fett/Original Character(s), Original Character & Boba Fett, Original Character & Clones
Series: The Ties That Bind [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608202
Comments: 22
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be using BBY timestamps because it's the easiest option.

60 BBY

Staring at his face in the mirror he frowned. It had been four years since the adoption and he had yet to hit a growth spurt. When he’d become Haati of the Kurshi’cin everyone, including himself, thought he was twelve standard. But if that was true then this year he should have been turning sixteen. What sixteen year old still looked twelve? Combing his snowy hair back he tied it into the low ponytail he wore when they left the _Chaab’kalar_ for work. It was a testament to his father’s love for him that the man didn’t seem to care his teenaged son still looked like a child, and ignored the criticism that was often thrown his way. Who in their right mind would bring a twelve year old onto a battlefield? As if his father wouldn’t have made absolutely certain he could take care of himself before he ever thought of allowing him to join him on jobs.

Even if he had been ten when his father found him Haati would be fourteen now, which meant he still had the right to join his father on jobs. Besides that fact, Haati was almost never in the line of fire. He was kept back as a sniper and back-up support in case something went wrong.

“Haat’ika! I need you to check the storage locker for a replacement ammo pouch! One of the straps fuckin broke!” Haati snickered to himself before poking his head out of the fresher. It had taken almost two years for his father to stop censoring himself around him and cuss freely without worrying what his son would think.

“Yes, father!” He called back before finishing his morning routine quickly. Stepping out of the fresher he hurried into the cargo bay and rummaged around to find the extra pouches. Looking at the mess in the locker he rolled his eyes in annoyance. He would have to come back and reorganize everything later. How his father ever found anything in all this mess he had no idea.

Heading up to the control deck he tossed the pouch to his father who easily snatched it out of mid-air. He grunted a ‘thanks’ and continued to fiddle with his belt, muttering a curse every now and then. Hiding his grin he headed into the cockpit and sat in the co-pilot’s seat, staring out at the streaking lights as they flew past. It wasn’t long until he was joined by his father who sat grumpily in the pilot’s seat.

“Come on, father, try to relax! This is a big day for our people.” Haati smiled. In the four years he’d been on Manda’yaim he’d spent most of his time learning and training. Part of his studies had included Mando’a, of course, and the history of the Mando’ade. Some days he wondered what it would have been like to grow up in the times of the past Mand’alor. He knew it was impossible but it was fun to think about.

But today his dream would become a reality. After so long the clans had finally agreed upon a new Mand’alor! Jaster Mereel was going to give a small speech about his intentions as their new leader. All of the Kurshi’cin clan would be there, including he and his father. The best part was that his father had finally agreed to let him swear to the Resol’nare. The Six Actions. The core tenets of their culture, the thing that made them true Mando’ade. Children of Mandalore.

Haati couldn’t wait. He would swear the oath, along with others around his age, before the Mand’alor.

 _‘Ba'jur bal beskar'gam, ara'nov, aliit, Mando'a bal Mand'alor.’_ Education and armor, self defense, clan, Mando’a and the Mand’alor. Haati spends the rest of the trip quietly repeating the words to himself.

56 BBY

By now they’d realized that something was terribly off about him. In the last eight years he’d grown very little, his youthful face barely losing it’s soft edges. Worried about his health his father had taken him to a medical facility. What the doctor found confused everyone, including Haati himself. In the last eight years he had only just reached the physical age of fifteen. At first his father had been angry, mostly on his behalf. It was just another thing in his life Haati didn’t know about himself. This time they couldn’t even blame the jetii for the lack of information. For all intents and purposes Haati appeared human to the scans. As far as they knew he probably had an ancestor from a longer lived species and the recessive genes for long life had probably lain dormant in his bloodline until him.

That was the lottery of genetics for you.

Haati looked at his father, worried what the man would think. Going by the doctor’s calculations Haati’s actual age was closer to thirty-eight, which meant he was actually older than his father by two years. It was absolutely insane to think about. He didn’t feel thirty-eight, and with no memories of his years with the jetii he had no idea how his life had gone until now.

“I know that look, Haat’ika. You’re doubting again.” He couldn’t help flinching when the man spoke. His father always seemed to just know what he was feeling. If he hadn’t been absolutely certain that his father was not force sensitive he would have assumed the man was empathic and could just feel his emotions.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he looked up at his father. “Do you know what this means Haat’ika?” He shook his head and Drogan chuckled. “We can make up for lost time.” Haati returned the smile, feeling the love his father had for him regardless of all the strangeness surrounding him. First the fact that he was a jetii and now the weird age thing.

“You’re just happy you get to play the part of the over-protective parent longer than anyone else.” His father laughed, eyes bright.

“I’ll always be protective, Haat’ika. Regardless of your age. It’s what parents do.” So they chalked up the strange case of his aging to either his ancestral heritage or some weird jetii thing they would never understand. At least now they knew what it was and knew they didn’t need to panic over it. Life would continue as before.

54 BBY

Nearly ten years after living with his father Haati woke in his room, cold sweat soaking into the bed. He could feel the vibration of the ship in the midst of hyperspace and it suddenly felt so off for reasons he couldn’t fathom. Getting up he groaned at the throbbing pain in his head and the odd ache in his limbs. He tried to stand but the room swayed in a way that made his stomach turn into squirming knots. Slowly he lowered himself to the floor, cross legged, and closed his eyes. The position was comfortable, safe, and reassuring.

Right, meditation will help. The thought came to him easily and he paused, frowning. Meditation? Since when have I ever- images flashed through his mind and he gasped. It was like a knife to the brain. Reaching back up to the bed he used it to haul himself shakily to his feet. He had to get his father!

Crossing the room he hit the comm on the wall, most of his body sagging against the wall. “Haat’ika? What’s wrong?” Neither of them used the ship comms unless they were elbows deep into a chore or there was an emergency.

 _“F-father, it’s- there’s something wrong w-with me.”_ Everything almost seemed to fade in and out around him, like his eyes refused to focus.

“Haati, you’re speaking Basic…” Was he? That… made no sense. He always spoke Mando’a on the _Chaab’kalar._ For that matter, he always spoke Mando’a with his family anyway. He only spoke Basic on jobs when his father absolutely needed him to speak up. Otherwise he remained quiet, spoke Mando’a, or used the internal comms.

“I’ll be right there. Stay calm, Haat’ika.” He nodded and let himself sink back to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his head on them.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, taking slow deep breaths and trying to swallow down the nausea. A cool hand pressed to the back of his neck and he felt some tension leaving his body. His father was here, everything would be okay. “You’re burning up, Haat’ika.” There was concern coloring the man’s voice as he carefully helped him to stand. “Fresher, now.” He nodded and let himself be led into the attached room. His father sat him down and started a cold shower before helping him out of his clothes and gently sitting him down under the spray. “I’ll be right back.”

Haati sat there under the rushing water and sighed. The coolness of it was helping with the pain, if not the nausea. Thoughts and images pressed against the inside of his skull, as if demanding attention. Opening his eyes he cursed vehemently in four separate languages. An impressed whistle nearby nearly made him jump. His father was looking down at him in a mix of concern, confusion, and slight amusement. Haati rarely, if ever, actually swore. “I’m pretty sure you never learned any of those from me.” He said as he knelt, holding out a small cup of vibrant liquid.

Haati took the cup with a nod, downed the contents, and shuddered in disgust at the taste. “No, apparently I learned them from Master Kaalix.” His father froze, eyes wide, and Haati gave him a sardonic smile. “Remember how that doctor said I might never get my memories back?” Drogan cursed, understanding the implications immediately.

“Look on the bright side, maybe I’ll remember some of the control exercises and teachings, rather than do them automatically with no understanding whatsoever.” His father frowned and Haati could feel the mix of anger/concern/protective feelings.

“Father, I’ll be fine. I’m not going anywhere. No matter what happened in the past, it is the past.” Cin vhetin, one's past was erased when they became Mando'ad. Nothing before mattered. “I am Mando'ad now, and nothing I remember will change that. Especially not with how the cowards have been treating me whenever they see me.” Both of them shared an angry look. Running into jetii had not been fun in the slightest. They saw the lightsaber on his belt and always assumed the worst. As if they were the only ones in the galaxy allowed to have the Force and carry lightsabers.

“Yeah, you’re right.” The man let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, Haat’ika. Let’s get you dry, into some fresh clothes, and back into bed. If you’re not feeling better by the time we get there I’m taking you to a medic.” Haati grimaced but nodded. Stars, he hated medics.

52 BBY

The Mand’alor called for them and the True Mandalorians had answered. It was supposed to be a fairly simple operation. Now the Q-Carrier they’d been riding in was falling apart as they hurtled toward the surface of the planet. His father sagged in his arms, unconscious, with blood dripping from the wounds on his side and head. Gritting his teeth Haati summoned as much of the force as he dared and imagined a powerful shield surrounding them. If he’d had more training in the force he may have been able to expand the shield to the others. Even if he had remembered bits and pieces of his past there were still gaps, glaring holes in his knowledge. He assumed that if his master hadn’t died he would have taught him more techniques. But this was the most he could do with what he had.

The shield he’d created saved their lives. Haati only sustained a few dents from flying debris, which was sure to turn into some pretty nasty bruises later. Laying his father gently on the floor he drew his lightsaber and cut a hole in the wall before kicking the chunk of metal out of his way. Lifting his father over his shoulder, careful of the wound in his side, he jumped out of the crashed ship. He had to rendezvous with the rest of the company as quickly as possible.

Spying some of his comrades he ran as fast as he could toward the defensive positions they’d taken up. Laying his father down gently in the ditch he heard blaster fire and took a quick look at what they were dealing with. The sight that met his eyes made him curse, anger filling him. The men and women he’d known for years now were being gunned down as they tried to retreat. Grabbing his lightsaber he jumped out of the ditch and charged toward the enemy.

As he ran past the retreating forms of his vod he heard them shouting at him over the comm, telling him to fall the fuck back. The sound fell on deaf ears as he let protective rage fill him, fueling the speed he needed to dodge and deflect blaster shots. There were shouts of Jetii from the enemy but he ignored them. His father was bleeding out in a ditch, his friends were wounded or dead, and these shabla shabuir were the cause. The green light of his saber left trails of light in its wake as his vod evacuated as many of the wounded as they could. Haati wouldn’t abandon them on the field to die like dogs.

When the others had finally made it to the ditch he began to fall back. His body shook with strain as he finally disengaged and dropped into the first ditch he could find, kneeling and catching his breath.

“I need a medic!” He barked into the comm, trying to sound less panicked and more authoritative than he felt.

“Even with the fancy fuckin sword you still got hit?” Someone growled back. It took him a moment to recognize Jango’s voice.

“No, _Alor._ My fa- Drogan survived the crash. But he won’t survive long if someone doesn’t stop the bleeding. I’d see to him myself but I know I’m more useful over here.” Even though he tried his damnedest to keep his distress under wraps, he was pretty sure they could all hear the fear he had for his father’s safety. There was silence for a moment and Haati wondered if his request would be denied.

“Beviin, see to it. Haati, think you can do some weird magic shit to distract them?” Haati scowled, rolling his eyes behind his visor. He hated when people called the force, magic.

“I’ll see what I can do, _Alor._ ” There was one thing he could try that he knew the jetii had been excited to teach him. He couldn’t remember why but he was pretty sure it had to do with the strength of his mental abilities. How he could gather information just by touching things and could slip past defenses to enter the mind of even those with a stronger will. Closing his eyes he thought of his father somewhere nearby, a man he respected and loved. A man who had not only saved his life and taken him in, but who had given him a family, a place to belong, after everything he’d known had been ripped from him. The fact that he was wounded because of a cowardly ambush made his righteous fury rise once again.

Haati had to stop himself and take a deep breath. While he didn’t believe in the jetii idea that emotions were something to be eradicated he did know that letting anger rule all of his actions was stupid. Mando’ade knew that letting anger control you was a quick way to end up dead.

Haati wasn’t quite sure how he did it, it was just something he seemed to have a natural affinity with. Over time he’d begun meditating and re-learning his force abilities. It had been an uphill battle but he was fairly proficient by now. Enough that he could call on it in the middle of battle if he needed to. Reaching out with his senses he felt the faintest of whispers in his mind. Allies and enemies. For his allies he bolstered their strength, conviction, and visions of victory. To his enemies he brought despair, fear, and the certainty of death. They resisted at first but slowly the suggestion started to sink in. One by one they each gave in to the sensation, with very few exceptions.

He wasn’t sure how long he knelt there in the ditch, focused solely on maintaining and strengthening the emotions of the sentients around him. Something heavy landed on his shoulder and his awareness pulled back to his body. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he opened his eyes to find a helmet practically in his face. Jango’s grip on his shoulder was hard, painful.

“Wake the fuck up! We’re moving, now!” Shaking his head to clear it he tapped the teen’s hand to show he was fine. Getting up was difficult but he managed to not fall on his face. Using the force continuously was exhausting.

The Mand’alor called for a retreat but was pinned down. Jango stopped, fists clenched in anger, before he ignored the order and turned back to help his father. Haati had only a second or two to decide what to do and chose to follow the impulsive teen. He understood the need to save someone he cared about and wouldn’t leave the other teen without any back-up.

The betrayal of the Mand’alor was witnessed by the both of them. Jango practically collapsed next to his father, gathering the man in his arms. The last words between father and son were almost too personal to witness. Haati could feel the mixed emotions of anger, grief, disbelief, and betrayal in the force. He had to push himself to focus on their surroundings, lightsaber in hand, or risk letting the emotions swamp him.

“ _Alor,_ we have to go.” The teen’s head turned in his direction slowly, almost as if he didn’t understand. “That Dar’manda coward has escaped. We can’t stay out here, we’re going to get shot.” Stepping closer he reached down and helped the other teen to stand. He looked down at the body of Jaster, who Jango stubbornly refused to let go of. Haati hesitated for a moment before he softly asked; “do you want me to carry him?” Jango hesitated but Haati was currently taller and had more mass. It would be faster for the older teen to carry the body, and neitehr of them wanted to leave the Mand’alor without a proper burial. Jango relented and Haati slung Jaster’s body over his shoulders.

It took them some time to get back to the rendezvous point but by the time they arrived the survivors had set up a proper base camp. The grim looks they received slowly turned to confusion and anger as they entered the camp. Something was wrong, Haati could practically taste it. Jango led him to the center of camp, shoulders squared, as Mando’ad gathered behind them. Laying down the body of Jaster near the medics tent he fell into step behind Jango, just off his right. He could feel a sense of danger in the force and didn’t want to leave his side. Something told him he was needed there.

The truth came out quickly. Montross had told everyone that Jango had died with Jaster, never once mentioning the betrayal. He told anyone within hearing range that he should be the next Mand’alor, but no one seemed particularly interested. Not after what he’d done. Watching Jango stand up to Montross he felt a swell of pride in is chest. Jaster had declared Jango his heir years ago, with every intention of training him to be just that. Haati could see glimpses of the great leader he would be in the future, just in the way he handled the traitor.

The only downside, in his opinion, was that Jango let Montross go. Even though banishment was a harsh punishment Haati couldn’t help but think it would be better to execute him. But they were not Death Watch. So he deferred to Jango’s decision as the new unofficial Mand’alor.

With the drama over with and the other leaders of their group turning to speak with Jango, Haati slipped away to find his father. He had been worried about him since the crash. He found him in their tent, that someone had graciously set up for them. The man was unconscious but stable. Haati let out a sigh of relief and his mind finally turned to more mundane things. Like dinner and whether he should clean his armor now or in the morning.

“Haati.” Someone entered the tent and with a smile he realized it was Jango. Looking over his shoulder he saw the teen step further into the tent, his steps sure, shoulders back, and head held high. Haati gave him a wide grin and opened his mouth to congratulate him on becoming the Mand’alor when he noticed the searching look in his piercing eyes.

“Who do you follow?” Unlike the clipped tone that was usual for the other teen the words were almost calm, quiet. But no less intense. Haati could sense that there was more to the question than what was being asked. So he took a moment to collect his thoughts and answer truthfully.

“I follow the Mand’alor.” Jango frowned minutely and he wondered what had been said that made his declaration to follow their king something to be suspicious about. “I follow house Mereel.” His eyes widened slightly. “And I follow Clan Kurshi’cin.” Reaching out he gripped his father’s hand and brought it to his forehead before setting it down gently again. Standing he turned to face Jango and appraised him carefully.

“I follow those who have honor, Jango Fett.” There were few customs associated with the Mand’alor, most of them informal save the few that were quite old. But Haati had always been fascinated by the history of their people and tried to learn as much as humanly possible. He’d studied whatever he could get his hads on nigh obsessively, all to be the best Mando’ad he could be and bring honor to his family.

Lowering himself to one knee he placed his right arm across his chest, fingers curled tight into a fist over his heart. “I am, and forever will be, at your service, Mand’alor Fett.” The silence in the tent was almost deafening as the two teens stared at one another.

Jango shifted on his feet, looking mildly uncomfortable. “Just get up.” He grumbled, looking away. If haati didn’t know any better he’d say the other teen was embarrassed.

“As you wish.” He said with a small chuckle and a mischievous smile. It was rare for him to be so formal and serious outside of battle, it must have thrown Jango off.

“…Haati of Clan Kurshi’cin.” Haati’s brows rose, questioningly. There were few formalities that started with naming ones clan. “Clan Fett opens its doors to you.” Haati’s mouth fell open in surprise. While he had expected to renew his promise to follow House Mereel he had never expected the offer of an alliance between their clans. Such a thing was far more binding than joining the same political faction. It was an oath to defend one another’s clan as if they were your own. To protect, shelter, and aid one another as if you were family. An offer like that from the Mand’alor himself was like offering to bring the entire might of the Mando’ade down on his enemies. It was a huge risk Jango was taking and an even bigger responsibility for Haati.

Haati glanced back at his father and frowned. An alliance was only something that the head of both families could agree to. Even if he was the heir he could not take the oath for his entire clan. Unless Drogan was dead or proven to be in a coma. What he should do is thank the other teen for the offer and ask him to wait until Drogan was awake to give him an answer. But there was almost a desperation in the air around them. This was something Jango needed.

“I can’t speak for my Clan, I’m only the heir.” The other teen stiffened, hands clenching at his sides. “But my doors are always open to you.” It was probably foolish of him. Haati knew that his father would swear for the Kurshi’cin once he woke up.

Jango’s eyes brightened. Haati’s declaration was a personal one. Even if Jango never got the backing of the Kurshi’cin he could always call on Haati for help. Slowly a self-satisfied smirk crossed the teen’s face. “We need some alcohol to seal it.” Haati laughed.

“I’m sure someone will be willing to share.” He offered Jango his arm and they clasped forearms, grinning like the young idiots they were.

Clan Kurshi’cin and Clan Fett would stand together. Alone if they had to.


	2. Chapter 2

46 BBY

Draining the last of the alcohol in his glass he leaned against the bar, eyes half-lidded and a wide grin on his face. Loose black hair framed a youthful face as deep blue eyes scanned the crowd in the upscale lounge. Brushing the hair back over his shoulder his eyes landed on a rough looking human with brown eyes and dirty blonde hair cut close to the scalp. A wide smile crossed his face as the man’s eyes caught sight of his blatant staring. An appreciative eye roamed his body, starting at the slender black pants and ending at the open collar of his shirt. Preening at the attention gave the man a wicked smile that promised just the right amount of trouble. Turning to the bartender he ordered another round for himself and one of whatever the gentleman was drinking. With drinks in hand he sauntered over to the table, only to be stopped by the man’s bodyguards. Rolling his eyes he gave an obvious pout.

“It’s no wonder you don’t have a playmate if this is the kinda reception everyone gets.” He said loudly to be overheard above the din. His voice had just the right mix of inebriation, desire, annoyance, and playfulness to it. The man leaned forward with a grin.

“How about you leave those drinks on the floor and I’ll get us some new ones. You can never be too careful.” He blinked and stopped for a moment, thinking it over. Shrugging he bent forward at the waist and placed the two drinks on the ground. Straightening he held out his arms to show he was unarmed and raised an eyebrow when the two guards hesitated. They looked back at their employer and he waved them off dismissively.

Sliding into the seat next to the dirty blonde he leaned onto the table. “Call me Ajira.”

“Cohl Likkans. It’s a pleasure.” There was definitely some heat behind his words.

 _“Tell me why we’re doing this again?”_ Came the low, sarcastic, voice in his ear. Biting his bottom lip so he wouldn’t laugh he leaned over the table a little more, inching closer to the target. An arm settled around his waist and he leaned into the hold, all open smiles and encouragement.

 _“I could just as easily tranq him from here.”_ Hiding a snort with a laugh he kept up the playful banter.

“Me? I work as a clerk. It has to be the most boring job I’ve ever had. But the pay is decent enough.” Taking a sip of the drink he’d been given he shoved the feeling of disgust and annoyance down hard when he realized it had been drugged. Trust a crime lord to be so insecure and paranoid that he had to drug a potential lover. He was lucky he was a force user and could purge the drug from his system. For now he pretended to let it effect him, letting his words slur just a little more and letting his movements become a little less graceful.

“It’s getting noisy and crowded in here, want to go somewhere a little more private? Get to know each other a little better.” Came a lecherous murmur next to his ear. Glancing at the man he took another sip of his drink, lips turned upward in a teasing smile.

 _“If I have to listen to any more of this_ osik _I’m blowing this op and shooting him.”_ Jango was definitely not amused but he knew that the threats wouldn’t be acted upon. Not unless he gave a sign that things had gone sideways and he needed a rescue. They needed to take the man alive or the contract was voided.

“I’d love to.” Between one moment and the next he was being led further into the building, past the VIP ropes, and down to the rented rooms. The guards were ordered to stay outside and not disturb them, which was exactly what he wanted.

“Well, now that we’re alone… how sound proof is this room?” The man grinned at him, coming up behind him to place lecherous hands on his hips.

“Oh it’s completely sound proof. You can be as loud as you want to be.” He almost rolled his eyes, almost.

“Oh good!” With the surety of someone trained for years to be the best warrior they could be grabbed the man by the shirt and flipped him over his head, slamming him into the ground. With a whoosh all the air left his target’s lungs and he started to cough, unable to breathe.

 _“I’m in position.”_ Always right on time, that man.

“Likewise.” Opening the door he started to panic at the guards.

“Something’s wrong! He collapsed and just started to convulse, I think he’s having a heart attack!” The guards pushed him into the room, one keeping an eye on him and the other kneeling next to his employer. They were smarter than they appeared.

An armored figure came into the room from the balcony, blaster in hand. The two bodyguards shifted focus, pulling out their own weapons. Slipping the syringe from its hiding place he jammed it into the first bodyguard’s neck. The man swung at him with a surprised shout, distracting the second bodyguard, before he collapsed to the floor unconscious. The second bodyguard turned toward the sound and was shot. Haati shook his head.

“Hmm, he should have kept his eyes on the real threat.” He said as Jango came further into the room, tossing a duffel bag his way. Grabbing it he left Jango with the target as he went to armor up in the fresher. He’d felt so naked without his armor on. He looked into the mirror and sighed. _‘Better to do it now rather than later.’_ Pulling out a case from the bag he slipped the colored contacts out and blinked rapidly to get rid of the weird feeling having them in always gave him. When he was finished he re-entered the room to see Jango standing guard over the unconscious target.

“Transport ready to go?” Jango looked up at him and shook his head. Haati could feel his displeasure from where he stood. He sighed.

“You agreed it was the most tactically sound plan.” He heard a small scoff.

“Tactically sound or not, if it’d gone tits up you would have been in trouble.” Haati smirked.

“I wasn’t worried. I had you for back-up.” Jango went silent, checking on the target and waiting for confirmation of their transport. Haati wanted to snicker, it was always funny when Jango got flustered or annoyed at him.

It took maybe four minutes to get their confirmation. “Ready to go?” He nodded and grabbed the duffel bag. Jango picked up the target and Haati inwardly grumbled as his partner walked past him. The genetic lottery was so damn unfair. He got the extra lifespan but absolutely no height. He was five foot four and Jango had already reached six feet. Haati hoped he had a growth spurt in the near future.

Following his partner Haati shut the door behind him. Patrons who were coming and going from their own rooms stopped and moved out of their way as Jango strode towards the back exit. The lounge was known to cater to criminals so there were a few escape routes down to the street level one could use to disappear. They’d already mapped out the quickest route.

Getting to the drop-off point they handed the crime lord over and received the reward. With nothing keeping them on the planet they headed back to Jaster’s Legacy.

Once they were off the planet and the coordinates had been set Haati pulled off his bucket and began to relax. Reaching up he grabbed the loose strands of hair and frowned. He hated changing his appearance, even if it was for a job. But someone with white hair and heterochromatic eyes attracted far too much attention. Getting up with a sigh he caught Jango’s questioning look.

“I need a shower, and to get this osik our of my hair.” Jango tilted his head, regarding him quietly for a moment.

“Good.” He finally said, giving the controls a quick once over.

“What do you mean, good?” Jango gave him a cheeky grin, eyes full of mirth.

“You look terrible with black hair.” He snorted and waved off his best friend.

“Shut up, _mir’sheb._ ” Jango let out a laugh before devolving into chuckles.

“You brought it on yourself, _ner burc’ya._ ” Haati smiled as he left the cockpit. Soon he’d be back to his normal appearance and then they would be home. He enjoyed the company of his friend but right now what he wanted most was to see his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Translations
> 
> Osik- Shit  
> Mir'sheb- Smartass  
> Ner burc'ya- My friend


	3. Chapter 3

44 BBY

Sitting around the base camp they’d set up he sat in front of the fire with a bowl of stew and watched the people around him. With Jango gone off to the Governor’s to report the completion of their job and get their pay Haati was currently in charge of the verde. Watching Myles try, and fail, to get his cloak back from Cadha he snickered. At least the verde got a good laugh out of it as their TIC was tripped into a snow bank.

Taking another bite of stew he noticed movement to his left and spied Dasari Baar’ur coming out of the medical tent, where a couple of verde were laid up with moderate wounds. Wounds just bad enough to earn the medic’s ire but not bad enough that they needed to be evaced.

“Dasari, come grab something to eat. You can send in Vhipirla to badger your patients later. I’m sure Vhip’ika would love to catch Saasyr with his armor off.” An indignant squawk from across the fire had everyone laughing uproariously as the young woman’s face turned bright red. Haati snickered, happy to be the one making the verde laugh after their battle with the Galidraanian rebels.

As more verde settled down to eat and relax Haati reveled in the contentment of those around him. Although he missed his father, the man off doing a solo mission elsewhere, he was glad to be surrounded by his friends and colleagues. The easy atmosphere around the camp, even without Jango there, was enough to soothe his homesickness.

Once he’d finished his meal he got up and walked away from the fire, giving up his seat to someone else. Rinsing off his bowl and spoon he gave them a quick wipe and returned them to the supply tent. Turning back toward the fire in the center of camp, intent on going back to enjoy a drink with his friends, he stopped. There in the back of his mind was that tug, a sensation that always made him feel twitchy. The feeling of other force users nearby. Frowning he looked toward the woods and reached out with his senses. Multiple force signatures echoed back, although he couldn’t tell how many there actually were. He cursed.

 _‘What the hell are jetii doing all the way out here?’_ Scowling he unclipped his bucket and jammed it back on, striding back into the center of camp with purpose. Seeing his approach the verde hushed each other, eyes following him carefully. It was a rare occurrence when Haati dropped his normal happy-go-lucky attitude and became the dangerous warrior they all knew he truly was. But when he did become serious everyone knew that something was about to go, or had already gone, terribly wrong.

“Myles!” Both he and Cadha stopped struggling with one another, looking at him quizzically. “You’re in charge until Jango or I return.” Murmurs of confusion and concern met the order. Normally the Haat Mando’ade didn’t have a strict command, each individual having their own talents and preferences. The only exceptions were Jango who excelled at leadership and strategy, being the Mand’alor, and Haati. When it came to force users or supernatural phenomenon they always followed his lead, even Jango.

“I’ve sensed a group of force users. I’m going to scout out the surrounding area, see what they’re up to. Defend the camp and hold this position.” Once he heard the majority of them acquiesce he gave them all a sharp nod and turned on his heel, stalking out of camp with purpose.

Using force assisted leaps he climbed the towering trees and landed on a sturdy branch. From there he was able to traverse the forest far more quickly than if he’d proceeded on foot. Eyes on the ground he reached out once more with his senses and found the group of jetii. Stopping on a branch when he came upon them he crouched and watched them carefully. Tallying their numbers he wanted to groan. There were twenty-shabla-four of them. If he had to fight them he had no doubt he wouldn’t be coming out of it unscathed, if at all. Especially with one of them being a padawan, he could see her braid from his perch. If there was a padawan then there would be a master who would fight tooth and nail, even die, to protect them.

Listening in on their planning session he snarled when he realized they were here to fight the Haat Mando’ade. They spoke about his brethren as if they were demagolkase. Snarling he jumped from the tree and landed about ten feet from them with a loud crunch. Immediately there were active lightsabers pointed in his direction, ready for a fight. A smirk crossed his face when he felt the flash of fear his appearance earned him, before the jetii were able to calm themselves.

 _“I’m not here to fight you,_ jetii. _Can we try to talk this out peacefully before we trade blows?”_ A couple of the knights faltered as he crossed his arms and widened his stance, preparing to move or defend himself if he had to. The movement attracted their attention and they eyed him warily. It didn’t take long for one of them to gasp when they saw the lightsaber sitting next to the knife on his belt. 

_“Where did you get that? Is it a trophy?”_ One of them spat at him, tension in every line of their body. Haati let out a long sigh of aggravation. It was the same damn question every damn time! Uncrossing his arms he lifted one high into the air, where it could be seen. Opening his hand he summoned his lightsaber from his belt, activating it the moment it slapped into his palm. This obvious display of the force surprised the jetii, though they tried to look unfazed.

 _“I built it myself when I was a boy.”_ He’d had to upgrade it since then, his hands were larger now than when he was a child. Looking back at the jetii he wasn’t surprised to feel their confusion-indignation-fear. What was surprising was the feeling of curiosity-interest-recognition. All coming from the older man who appeared to be the leader of the group.

 _“Who are we speaking with, if I may be so bold as to ask?”_ Well, at least one of them was being polite. He hadn’t even drawn his saber yet, how nice.

 _“Haati Kurshi’cin of the True Mandalorians.”_ Switching off his lightsaber he attached it to his belt before reaching up with both hands. It was a risk, taking off his helmet in front of possible enemies, but it was one he felt he had to take. Something, probably the force, whispered that it would be okay. With his bucket in his hands he was able to look the jetii in the eyes, giving them an almost playful smile.

 _“You might recognize me as former Jedi Padawan Justus Armaan.”_ There was a muttered curse from one of the jetii as they lowered their blade, looking at him as if he was some rare creature. In a way he supposed he was. Not many left the order when they were a young padawan, and he had never heard of one who left to become a Mandalorian before.

 _“Haati, then. Would you be so kind as to tell me about the crimes your people have been accused of committing?”_ Fumbling with his helmet for a moment, feeling annoyed, he shook his head. Clipping it to his belt he looked back at the man with a slight frown.

 _“It’s rude to not introduce yourself in return, don’t you think?”_ One brow raised elegantly and Haati wanted to snicker at the almost disdain he saw on the man’s face.

 _“Jedi Master Yan Dooku.”_ Haati frowned. The name sounded vaguely familiar to him. Judging by his appearance he was probably approaching fifty. If that was the case then he may have been someone ‘Justus’ knew of when he was young. A promising initiate or even padawan perhaps. For the time being that information was irrelevant so he pushed it aside for now.

 _“We were called by the governor himself to deal with a violent rebel uprising. We have a proper contract written up, if you’d like to see it for yourself. Whatever accusations have been made about us are either mistaken or were made with malicious intent. I’d offer to let you speak with our leader but he is currently unavailable.”_ One of the jetii opened their mouth and Haati interrupted the question before it could even be formed. _“He’s with the governor receiving our pay for services rendered.”_ Cocking his head to the side he looked the jetii over and shook his head ruefully. _“I’d offer to share our fire with you but I don’t think that would turn out well for anyone involved.”_ There was a snort from the padawan and he couldn’t help grinning at her in return.

 _“How do we know he’s telling the truth, Master Dooku?”_ Haati stood there, perplexed, as one of the young knights spoke up, looking to their leader for an answer. Unable to help himself he snorted in amusement. Apparently it was loud enough to earn him a couple of glares.

 _“Really? You’re a_ jetii _and you’re asking how you can tell if someone is lying or not? I’d think the answer would be obvious.”_ There was a shuffling amongst the group and some of them looked uncomfortable. 

_“Well you claim you’re Justus Armaan but that can’t be possible. He left the Order twenty years ago.”_ Honestly it was a good question. If he was in their shoes he would have questioned it as well. He really did not look fifty years old.

 _“You know, I’ve never actually been given a proper explanation for that myself. The running theory is that I had a very long lived species in my ancestral line.”_ He shrugged. _“Trust me,_ adike, _aging this slowly? It’s not as fun as you’d think…”_ Just thinking of how much older his father looked now made his insides twist painfully. Hell, his baby cousins were twenty-two! _“But we’ve gone off topic. What crimes are we being accused of?”_ Looking around he sighed. No conveniently placed logs, stumps, or rocks for him to sit on and he was already tired from the earlier fight. Sitting in the snow didn’t really appeal to him to he remained standing.

 _“The governor called us here to stop a group of Mandalorians who were slaughtering his people, peaceful protesters no less.”_ His eyes snapped over to Master Dooku and he let out an angry hiss between his teeth.

 _“He **what**!?”_ Rage filled him. The governor had called them there to do his dirty work then tried to sic jetii on them! It took a lot more concentration and energy than he thought to rein in his emotions and calm himself enough to respond. _“Listen. I understand that_ jetii _and_ mando’ade _do not get along, for many cultural and historical reasons. But we are not monsters. The True Mandalorians just want to continue our work as mercenaries and soldiers. Honorable mercenaries and soldiers. We do not destroy villages, steal, or hurt the innocent. No. For those kinds of atrocities you want the Death Watch.”_ He tried to calm himself but the burning rage was so distracting. _“They are a radical group of terrorists who want to bring back the Mandalorian Crusades. In other words, they’re absolutely insane.”_ Bringing back the crusades after the many wars that had devastated the Mando’ade would only bring about the destruction of their culture, their people.

Watching the jetii take in this new information he grit his teeth and shoved his anger down once again. Maybe it was all the jetii standing there in front of him but something felt wrong. A sudden shriek of danger in the force made him twitch to the right. It was damn lucky he did too.

One moment he was standing, waiting for the jetii to respond, and the next he found himself sprawled on the ground, cold snow against his face. Everything was going in and out of focus, the sharp pain in his head making him feel sick to his stomach. Someone screamed… or was that the blood rushing through his ears? Bright flashes of light burst overheard and he had to shut his eyes. The force was pushing at him, insisting, demanding that he get up. Lifting himself from the ground he felt the weakness in his arms and willed it away. He needed to stand, needed to see what happened.

“…ati!” Slipping he slumped to the side but was stopped from falling back to the ground by a strong arm wrapping around his waist and hauling him up. “Haati! Snap out of it you crazy fucker!” He knew that voice. It was one he was very familiar with, one he should obey. Looking up into worried brown eyes he tried to smile but the pain made him grimace instead. Jango was stricken, he could feel the fear and anxiety coming off him in the force, even if his expression was blank.

“Jan…go?” The look of relief in those warm eyes made him relax. His friend was one of the most terrifying warriors in the galaxy but his love for his people was what made him a true leader.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you.” Shaking his head to clear it he leaned against Jango for a moment to get his bearings. His friend hesitated for a moment before he grabbed his bucket and slipped it back on. “We’re retreating!” He ordered.

Pushing himself to stand on his own he reached up to wipe the feeling of wet snow from his face. His hand came back bloody and he realized he was wounded. What the fuck had happened? How the hell did he get wounded? Looking around he watched in horror as the jetii and the mando’ade fought each other. This was not how things were supposed to go.

“No! Stand down! Stand the fuck down!” He could feel Jango’s shock through the force as he left his friend standing there and ran into the thick of the battle. Palming his saber he threw himself into the path of an oncoming lightsaber strike aimed at a comrade and parried it before flipping the blade in his hand and deflecting a blaster bolt aimed at the jetii. Both the verde and the jetii stared at him in stunned confusion. “You heard the Mand’alor! Retreat!” He snarled at the armored figure behind him. They hesitated but quickly disengaged. No one disobeyed the Mand’alor.

Blocking a couple of pot shots he dove under an oncoming blade. Rolling with practiced ease he popped up into a crouch. _“We are not your enemies!”_ He yelled at the jetii trying to take his head off. Gritting his teeth he parried a couple of slashes before punching the knight in the side of the head to knock them down. Breathing heavy he stood and searched the field for the master jetii. Dooku. He had to find Dooku and stop this.

Spying the man he ran toward him, deflecting more blaster fire away from himself and the jetii as he went. He could see them now. Hiding in the trees. Hitting the comm on his vambrace he brought it to his mouth as he dodged more blaster fire. “Jango! It’s the Death Watch! We’re being ambushed!” It was a near perfect plan. Get the True Mandalorians and the Jedi to kill each other. Then whoever was left could be picked off easily.

“Fuck. They’re behind us!” He wanted to scream in rage but swallowed the sound. It wouldn’t help his situation to lose his head now.

A blade swung toward him and he blocked it. In front of him was the padawan, expression grim and eyes sharp with anger. _“Stop! I need to speak with Master Dooku! We’re not here to fight you!”_

 _“You tried to snipe Knight Xeryiks!”_ Haati shook his head emphatically, then stopped and swallowed to push back the nausea brought on by the pain.

 _“No! We didn’t!”_ Her attacks were relentless, even as he tried to talk her down, but he had spent far more time on the field of battle than she had. _“I’m the_ shabla _sniper! I can’t shoot myself! Does this look like a lightsaber wound to you!?”_ She ignored his words and continued her assault, her focus solely on the crossing of their blades.

A warning in the force caught his attention. One of the Death Watch aimed at the back of the padawan, intent clear. _“No!”_ He shouted. Parrying her blade he used the force to push her behind him. Even as he brought his lightsaber up to deflect the shot he realized he was too slow. A searing pain erupted from his side and he staggered. Slugthrowers. They were using slugthrowers instead of blasters. The perfect weapon against jetii.

For the second time that day he collapsed into the snow, blood dripping from his head and now from his side. “S-stop…” Haati’s eyes swam as he lost the grip on his lightsaber. The world turned black.

* * *

Eyes snapping open he tried to sit up and groaned in pain. Looking down at his body he realized he was covered with a warm blanket. Confused, he looked around. It probably took him a little bit longer than necessary to recognize his own tent back at the base camp. Catching the eyes of the only other person inside with him he flinched. Jango did not look amused, not in the least. He was definitely in trouble.

“Finally awake, eh.” He tried to smile but it faltered when Jango’s frown deepened. The Mand’alor stood and walked up to his cot, kneeling next to it.

“You fucking idiot!” He hissed darkly, staring him down. Haati was the first to look away. “You almost died! What would I have-” He cut himself off and took a couple of deep breaths. “Haati.” Voice much softer than before he reached out and grabbed one of his hands, gripping it tightly. Swallowing Haati looked back at his friend.

“I’m sorry I worried you…” Jango just let out a heavy sigh and sat up on his knees. Leaning over the cot he gently pressed their foreheads together, their noses bumping into each other. Haati’s eyes widened. It was a very intimate and affectionate act for their people. His cheeks colored in embarrassment.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again. That’s an order.” Haati couldn’t help chuckling.

“As you command, my king.” Jango’s eyes lit with amusement and his lips twitched upward into a smirk.

The sound of someone clearing their throat filled the tent and both of them startled. Standing just outside the tent, holding the flap open slightly, was Myles. “Sorry to interrupt. The leader of the jetii wanted to speak with you.” Jango grimaced.

“I’ll be there in a moment.” Myles nodded and vanished. Jango rubbed at his face tiredly.

“What happened while I was unconscious?” The look he received was strained.

“The jetii finally got their shit together and realized we were both being targeted. They joined us in taking out the Death Watch. One of their people has been helping out in the medic’s tent, using the force.” Haati closed his eyes.

“I can feel your grief. How many did we lose?” The pang of hurt deepened.

“We lost eight. The jetii lost three. Thirteen wounded, five critically including you. The jetii have six wounded, four critical.” It was better than he’d thought but the loss was still there.

“They are not gone, merely marching far away.” Jango’s hand tightened for a moment before he nodded and finally let go.

“I’ll be back later. Their leader wants to talk to you as well, but only if the medics allow it.” Haati nodded.

“Do me a favor.” Jango eyed him warily, noticing the small grin he was trying to hide. “Tell Dooku that I was once part of Heliost Clan. Then tell me what his expression is like.” Jango raised his eyebrow questioningly. Haati couldn’t hide his grin any longer. “They’re the jetii Clan that took in future scholars, librarians, and archivists.” Jango chuckled, shaking his head, and left the tent.

As Haati lay there in the semi-darkness he replayed one moment of their conversation in his mind over and over again. Face turning red he pulled the blanket over his head and tried to erase it from his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Translations
> 
> Baar’ur- Medic  
> Verde- Plural of Verd, meaning Soldier.  
> Shabla- Fucking.  
> Adike- Children of any age, also used the same way as ‘guys.’  
> Haat Mando’ade- True Mandalorians.  
> Demagolkase- Someone who commits atrocities, a real-life monster, a war criminal.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jango POV for the last 2 chapters.

46 BBY

Watching his partner approach the target through his scope he felt his fingers twitch in annoyance. It was one thing to hire a distraction to lure a target into position but it was something else entirely to watch one of his best friends approach a dangerous criminal in nothing but thin fabric. With his hair down, dyed black, and colored contacts hiding his naturally distinct eyes the man looked entirely foreign to him. It was odd. In his beskar’gam Haati always seemed bigger than he actually was. Seeing him in aruetii clothes made him look so much shorter, more slender.

 _“It’s no wonder you don’t have a playmate if this is the kinda reception everyone gets.”_ The way he spoke made Jango’s skin crawl. It was a far cry from the playful teasing, openly affectionate, and normally innocent tone he had come to associate with the man.

 _“How about-”_ static, _“-on the floor and I’ll-”_ more interference, _“-can never be too careful.”_ Adjusting the volume and sound filters he kept an eye on the two hired thugs as Haati got closer.

 _“Call me Ajira.”_ It was a name he’d heard Haati use once or twice when he was playing up being a flirtatious idiot. He had to wonder if the name and personality was based on a real person or not. Because he could never see his stalwart friend coming up with this persona from scratch.

 _“Cohl Likkans. It’s a pleasure.”_ Now that Haati was sitting next to him the words were coming in much clearer. More clear than he would have liked, actually. The desire in his tone of voice and the unrepentant leering made him clench his teeth.

“Tell me why we’re doing this again?” He couldn’t help the low, sarcastic, growl that accompanied his words. Even though Haati had convinced him it was the easiest way to get close, Likkans had a vice that was easy to exploit after all, he couldn’t help thinking this was a bad idea.

“I could just as easily tranq him from here.” It was true. He could have the guy dead asleep in seconds if he wanted to.

They yammered on about random osik for a few more minutes. It was only when Haati took a sip of the drink that he felt something was wrong. There was a slight intake of breath picked up by the mic. Jango narrowed his eyes. Haati’s fingers around the glass shifted and he wanted to curse. _‘Drugged? That coward fucking drugged him!’_ If Likkans hadn’t been worth a fairly substantial sum of credits alive Jango would have killed him for the offense.

 _“It’s getting noisy and crowded in here, want to go somewhere a little more private? Get to know each other a little better.”_ Jango’s skin crawled and he grimaced in the safety of his helmet.

“If I have to listen to any more of this osik I’m blowing this op and shooting him.” Screw the contract. He could just say it was someone else who cocked it up.

 _“I’d love to!”_ Haati stood up and moved to be closer to the crime lord, partially obscuring his line of sight. As the four of them headed toward the lift that would take them up to the VIP rooms he quickly shouldered the rifle. It was easy to get up to the balcony of the room from his sniping position, he’d been there earlier and planned things in advance.

 _“Well, now that we’re alone… how sound proof is this room?”_ Slipping his blaster from his thigh holster he crept up to the glass doors of the balcony and waited.

 _“Oh it’s completely sound proof. You can be as loud as you want to be.”_ He could hear how close the target was to his partner.

 _“Oh good!”_ There was a loud thump and the sound of someone wheezing. Jango couldn’t help the vicious smirk that crossed his face.

“I’m in position.” 

_“Likewise.”_ Haati sounded fondly amused.

 _“Something’s wrong! He collapsed and just started to convulse, I think he’s having a heart attack!”_ Through the crack in the curtains he watched the guards enter the room. One of them knelt to check their employer while the other stuck behind Haati, blaster out and pointed at his back. Jango kicked the doors open and smirked when the guards focus shifted to him immediately. Pulling out the syringe that had been hidden in his wide belt Haati turned and jammed it into the first bodyguard’s neck. His flailing and shout distracted the second. Giving him a clear and easy shot to take out the second guard.

“Hmm, he should have kept his eyes on the real threat.” He couldn’t help the small snort of mirth that came from him as he holstered his blaster and went back to the balcony for the duffel bag hidden there. Grabbing it he came back into the room and tossed it toward his partner. Haati vanished into the fresher as he knelt by the target. The man was laying there, eyes wide. Taking out his own sedative he stabbed the crime boss with the needle and watched his eyes roll back into his head when the drug finally started working. Standing over the unconscious man he checked his messages and scowled.

“Transport ready to go?” Jango looked over at Haati, glad to see him back in his armor. He was still annoyed from earlier when his friend had put himself directly into danger. Even if he knew Haati had the Force and was Mando enough to handle a couple bodyguards he still couldn’t help feeling tense.

“You agreed it was the most tactically sound plan.” He scoffed.

“Tactically sound or not, if it’d gone tits up you would have been in trouble.” Haati smirked at him.

“I wasn’t worried. I had you for back-up.” This was why it was hard to be mad at him for long. He had such unending faith and belief in him it was almost unsettling.

Four minutes later he received confirmation that their transport had arrived. “Ready to go?” Haati nodded, grabbed the duffel bag, and got ready to leave. Leaning down Jango grabbed the crime lord and slung him over his shoulder. 

Haati shut the door behind them, leaving the bodies of the bodyguards for someone else to clean up. Patrons who were coming and going from their own rooms stopped and moved out of their way as he strode towards the back exit. The lounge was known to cater to criminals so there were a few escape routes down to the street level someone could use to disappear. They’d already mapped out the quickest route.

Getting to the drop-off point they handed the crime lord over and received the reward. With nothing keeping them on the planet they headed back to Jaster’s Legacy.

Once they were off the planet and the coordinates had been set Haati pulled off his bucket and began to relax. Reaching up he grabbed the loose strands of hair and frowned. Jango watched him from the corner of his eye as he got up with a sigh.

“I need a shower, and to get this osik our of my hair.” Jango tilted his head, regarding his partner quietly for a moment.

“Good.” He finally said, giving the controls a quick once over.

“What do you mean, good?” Jango gave him a cheeky grin, eyes full of mirth.

“You look terrible with black hair.” Haati snorted and waved him off.

“Shut up, mir’sheb.” Jango let out a laugh before devolving into chuckles.

“You brought it on yourself, ner burc’ya.” Haati headed off to have his shower as Jango leaned back into the pilot’s seat. It had been fun doing a job like this on their own but he couldn’t wait to be home.

44 BBY

Walking through the Governor’s mansion he couldn’t help the faint feeling of something wrong. Haati always joked that he was force sensitive, just too stubborn to admit it, but Jango always brushed it off as the other man’s usual teasing. At times, though, he could admit that it seemed to have a grain of truth to it. Even with battle instincts there were times where he knew he’d have died if not for some outside feeling of danger making him react in time to save his own life. Right now he had that feeling again. Like the prickle of eyes staring at the back of his head.

Entering the large office he walked up to the desk and waited. The governor entered the room, his elaborate clothes and immaculate appearance making him look like one of those fancy but absolutely useless birds. The man took his seat and gave him a fake smile. _“Ah, yes, Mr. Fett. You’re here to report your success I take it?”_ Jango’s eyes narrowed at the almost smug tone but didn’t outwardly react.

 _“We’ve completed the contract as agreed. I’m just here to get what we’re owed.”_ His gruff voice made the governor frown but he quickly hid it with another fake smile.

 _“What you’re owed, hmm?”_ Jango stiffened. A burst of bloodlust from behind made him dive out of the way as someone shot at him. Coming up on one knee he lifted his own weapon. Kyr’tsad members poured into the room from hidden places and Jango cursed. Moving to stand beside the governor Tor Vizla sneered at him.

“Surrender, Fett.” He spat. “You’re outnumbered, and none of your cowardly brethren will be coming to save you. Especially not your pet jetii.” There was a manic sort of glee in the man’s eyes as he insulted Jango’s comrades. He grit his teeth until he heard them creak. He could not allow his anger to overcome him. Once you gave yourself to your anger you started making mistakes.

 _“It is so unfortunate that the True Mandalorians have attacked my people. There’s nothing I, as a simple governor, can do.”_ The governor said with false sincerity and grief. _“Thankfully the Jedi are more than capable of dealing with the threat to my people.”_ Jango’s blood ran cold. This was all an elaborate trap!

Without warning Tor opened fire, his fanatical followers following suit. Hitting the start-up sequence for his jetpack he bolted toward the nearest window and threw himself out of it. An explosive round destroyed the wall behind him as he flew off.

“Haati, come in!” There was no response. “Haati! Come in!” The line remained dead. Cursing he switched frequencies. “Myles!”

“Yes, my king?”

“Where the fuck is Haati?” There was a moment of silence.

“The Alor said he’d sensed some force sensitives nearby and went to investigate.” The blood drained from his face. Haati was walking into a trap, alone.

“That crazy fucker!” He hissed. “Myles, take half our force and go after him! He’s walking into a trap, the governor sold us out to Kyr’tsad!” Myles cursed, even as he acknowledged the order.

Turning off the comm he switched to tracking and found Haati’s location. His second in command had a bad habit of going off on his own after feeling something in the force. It was often enough that Jango had demanded he keep a tracking beacon on him keyed to Jango’s armor. It spoke volumes of the trust between them that Haati had only laughed, teased him about recovering lost property, and allowed him to do it anyway. The moment he locked onto Haati’s signature he changed his heading.

When he arrived he saw Haati standing there, helmet off, and trying to converse with the jetii. He knew because of his best friend’s odd past that there was a good chance he actually could talk them down. But if they were part of the trap set by Kyr’tsad then it wouldn’t be as straight forward as Haati believed it to be.

Pulling off his own helmet he attached it to his belt. Obviously the lack of helmet was getting the jetii to listen. So if he showed up with it on it could disrupt whatever good will Haati had gained.

Just as he landed nearby he watched Haati suddenly jolt before collapsing to the snow. Fear seized his heart. Memories of Jaster’s death passed before his eyes and filled him with a mix of dread and rage.

“Haati!” He yelled, ignoring the jetii completely. Running over to the prone form he saw the blood on the snow and panicked. Haati groaned in pain as he slowly tried to rise and Jango felt relief swamp him. His friend slipped and would have fallen but Jango quickly reached out and wrapped an arm around his waist to haul him to his feet. “Haati! Snap out of it you crazy fucker!” He looked down into pain fogged eyes, the pupils not quite responding correctly. Blood slid down his face from a graze at his temple, coloring his hair and staining his pale skin.

“Jan…go?” The fact that Haati could recognize him and still speak made him relax with relief.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you.” He tightened his hold on his friend, letting him lean against his body for support while he got his bearings. Looking toward the jetii he hesitated for a moment before putting his helmet back on. The situation was fucked anyway and he needed to command his people.

Switching it to all frequencies he barked out his order. “We’re retreating!” There was no way the jetii would be willing to listen to them now. Not when one of their own had been shot.

Unfortunately while he had been helping Haati the reinforcements he’d called for had arrived and were already engaging the jetii. Haati shifted, wiping at his face, and seemed to stare at his hand for a moment in shock. Had he not noticed he was hurt? Was the shock that bad? It worried him. Before he could speak Haati’s head suddenly turned and took in the battle.

“No! Stand down! Stand the fuck down!” His friend yelled, sounding desperate. With a shove Haati pushed himself away and bolted toward the fight. Jango tried to pull him back but he had subconsciously augmented his body with the force and was moving too fast for him to stop Haati without injuring him further.

He watched the brave, reckless, stupid idiot put himself between a comrade and a jetii. Lightsabers clashed as Haati parried the other saber before the blade swung in an arc and deflected a blaster bolt away from the jetii. Both parties stalled, unsure about what the man’s goal was. The verd disengaged.

Jango cursed under his breath. Haati hadn’t put his bucket back on! There was no way to ask what kind of lunatic plan he’d come up with. “Myles! The jetii aren’t our enemies. All forces are to disengage immediately!” Once his order was received he threw himself into the battle.

It was obvious his second didn’t want to kill any of the jetii, but he also wouldn’t let his men die either. It was lucky, then, that he’d convinced Jango to get new vambraces with cortosis in them. All he had to do was block a lightsaber with his arm and the blade would short out, vanishing. He punched one of the jetii in the stomach as they stood there, mouth agape, and watched them fall to the snow, coughing as they tried to draw breath. _“This whole damn thing is a fucking trap you_ di’kutla jetii!” The man wheezed and glared at him, arm covering his stomach.

A feeling of something wrong had him moving before he even registered what he was doing. A blaster bolt zinged off his armor as he stood in front of the jetii, saving their life. He spied the shooter and took them out. _“Wh-what?”_ The jetii asked from behind him, finally catching their breath.

 _“It’s a fucking ambush!”_ He snarled. _“Either be useful or get the fuck out of my way!”_ Leaving the jetii there he pressed forward, trying to catch up with his wounded second. That man could be absolutely infuriating when he decided on something. He wouldn’t back down unless someone knocked him out. Or unless Jango asked.

Shooting another Kyr’tsad he watched as Haati jumped in front of another jetii, the one with the braid. Watching him fall to the snow for a second time made something inside him snap. With a roar he charged past the confused jetii and used his jetpack to launch himself into the cowardly bastard that dared to hurt the people he cared about.

By the time the ambush was over there were no Kyr’tsad members left. Even the ones who had fled were hunted down and dispatched. Dasari Baar’ur and her apprentice had already helped evacuate the wounded.

Turning to the man who seemed to be leading the jetii he looked him over for any sign of hostility before he approached, but not too close. _“I am Jango Fett,_ Mand’alor, _and leader of the True Mandalorians. Haati is my second. Before everything went to_ haran _it looked like he had been talking sense into you jetii.”_ The man inclined his head in a polite nod.

 _“I’ve heard of him. He was a former padawan learner, after all. No one knew what happened to him. All anyone was told was that he left the order by choice. It was a surprise to him wearing Mandalorian armor and wielding a lightsaber.”_ Jango knew his grin was probably more feral than it should be at the moment, the jetii watched him warily.

 _“He is_ Jetii’manda. _Our sole_ jetii mando’ad.” The man nodded.

 _“What I want to know, jetii, is why you would be so foolish as to be tricked into doing someone’s dirty work.”_ There was an offended scoff from the woman with the braid but she was shushed by the man Jango assumed was her master.

 _“It was requested by the Senate and we were told there was already proof. I admit that we did not think to question it until we ran into your second.”_ Jango gave them a hard look.

 _“I’ll give you a chance, jetii, our camp isn’t far and your people need medical attention. This was as much a trap for us as it was for you.”_ He had no doubts that he and Haati alone could have taken out at least half their members by themselves if they had to. Kyr’tsad had to know they wouldn’t go down so easily. “We’ll talk about the ambush and you can take back my warning to your Senate.” His eyes were cold and voice hard. The leader of the jetii watched him for a moment before giving a slight bow.

 _“That is acceptable.”_ Fucking jetii and their haughty attitude.

* * *

Sitting at the small table in Haati’s tent he took another swig of shig and sighed. The Baar’ure didn’t know when their second in command would wake and it was causing everyone to worry. Even with his odd force abilities that they couldn’t understand, Haati was well loved by a lot of the verde. He was observant, attentive, kind, playful, responsible, and free with his affection. When he wasn’t being the living embodiment of death on the battlefield, that is. He treated everyone as if they were family, as if they mattered. Out of all the Haat Mando’ade he was one of the most mandokarla.

Movement and the sound of groaning caught his attention and he realized that his second was awake. Jango felt elated, before the feeling turned to annoyance and anger. Haati was always pulling stupid stunts like before and it irked him. The flinch when his friend finally caught sight of him just proved that Haati knew it too.

“Finally awake, eh?” Haati tried to give him a smile but Jango’s scowl made it falter. Standing from his seat at the table he walked over and knelt next to the bed, sitting back on his heels. “You fucking idiot!” He hissed, letting Haati hear the dark anger in his voice. Haati looked away from him and he wanted to growl in frustration. He knew that Haati was fine, that he was awake and would recover. But he couldn’t help remembering how he’d fallen, how it’d reminded him of Jaster’s death. “You almost died! What would I have-” A lump formed in his throat and it almost made him choke.

What would he have done if Haati died? Myles was a great third in command and would do well as a second if the need arose. But the idea of Haati no longer being in his life was just… something he didn’t want to think about. No more funny quips and jokes between them, no more reminiscing about friends and family as they sat up late to look at the stars, no more looking into eyes as bright as jewels or seeing the sometimes shy smile and faint blush that crossed his face whenever he was complimented…

With sudden clarity Jango realized that he _couldn’t_ live without him. Then everything suddenly clicked. _‘Well, shit.’_ He was in love with his best friend. He had no idea what to do with that information. Haati had never shown an inclination for any type of romantic relationship so Jango had no idea what his friend would think of this new revelation.

Haati still wouldn’t look at him, too ashamed of disappointing his Mand’alor if Jango had to guess. “Haati.” His voice softened and he reached out to grab one of the man’s hands, gripping it tightly. Touching him helped ground Jango, helped remind him that Haati was still here.

“I’m sorry I worried you…” The quiet, sincere, apology was so wonderfully like him that he had to sigh. Finally understanding his attraction for what it was he felt like he had to do something. Something to show the idiot how much he cared, how much he would be missed. Sitting up on his knees he leaned over the cot and gently pressed their foreheads together. Their noses bumped against each other and Haati’s eyes widened in surprise. The faint blush on his cheeks made Jango feel giddy. Maybe there was something between them, something that could become more than just friendship.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again. That’s an order.” Haati chuckled, his eyes bright with mirth.

“As you command, my king.” He couldn’t help the small smirk that crossed his face. Haati was here, alive, and teasing him like always. It was a relief.

The sound of someone clearing their throat behind him made him jump slightly. Pulling away he looked toward the opening of the tent and saw Myles standing there, looking slightly uncomfortable. Jango was confused for a moment. Normally the man was unflappable.

“Sorry to interrupt. The leader of the jetii wanted to speak with you.” Jango realized that Myles had seen him leaning over Haati. From where he was standing it would have looked a lot more intimate than just the touching of foreheads. He grimaced. If there weren’t rumours around camp of them being a couple by morning, he’d eat his gauntlets.

“I’ll be there in a moment.” Myles nodded and disappeared, letting the tent flap close. Rubbing at his face, half to hide his embarrassment and half because he was feeling the beginnings of a headache, he wondered what Haati’s reaction would be to the rumours. 

“What happened while I was unconscious?” He couldn’t help the tired look that came over his face.

“The jetii finally got their shit together and realized we were both being targeted. They joined us in taking out the Death Watch. One of their people has been helping out in the medic’s tent, using the force.” Haati closed his eyes.

“I can feel your grief. How many did we lose?” He flinched. Of course Haati could feel him with the force.

“We lost eight. The jetii lost three. Thirteen wounded, five critically including you. The jetii have six wounded, four critical.” It could have been much worse, but even so- each death weighted heavily on him.

“They are not gone, merely marching far away.” Jango’s hand tightened for a moment before he nodded in acknowledgment and finally let go.

“I’ll be back later. Their leader wants to talk to you as well, but only if the medics allow it.” Haati nodded.

“Do me a favor.” Jango eyed him warily, noticing the small grin he was trying to hide. “Tell Dooku that I was once part of Heliost Clan. Then tell me what his expression is like.” Jango raised his eyebrow questioningly. Haati’s face split with a mischievous grin. _‘Kriff. He’s adorable.’_

“They’re the jetii clan that took in future scholars, librarians, and archivists.” Jango chuckled and shook his head. Haati did like to read and was a bit of a history buff but he couldn’t see him hiding away in a library all the time. No. His place was on the battlefield, at Jango’s side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Translations:
> 
> Osik- Shit.  
> Mir’sheb- Smartass.  
> Ner burc’ya- My friend.  
> Baar’ure- Medic Plural  
> Verde- Plural of Verd, meaning Soldier.  
> Kyr’tsad- Death Watch  
> Haat Mando’ade- True Mandalorians.  
> Di’kutla- Useless, stupid, worthless.  
> Mandokarla- Having the right stuff, showing guts and spirit, the state of being the epitome of Mando virtues.


	5. Drawing of Haati

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally ended up drawing Haati. Hopefully now that I have a basic design I can commission someone for better artwork.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haati gets a surprise party and Jango gets the shovel talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This _was_ in Loose Threads but I felt it would go better here.

44 BBY (2 months after Galidraan)

[Haati]

Haati stared at the huge pile of gifts on a table Corinth had hauled to the front of the mess. Above the gifts was a banner that read; Happy 50th Birthday Haati! With a loud groan he placed his head in his hands, his ears turning red in mortification. All around him people were laughing and he couldn’t really fault them. It was utterly ridiculous to call him fifty when he had only just hit the biological age of twenty. But they weren’t wrong, so he couldn’t exactly fault them for it.

Someone slapped his back and he looked up to glare at the two men who’d come to stand on either side of him. Both wore identical mischievous grins as they looked down at him. “Happy Birthday Cousin! Hope you like the banner!” Kebiin said from his right.

“We worked real hard on it, so you better appreciate it.” Vorpan said on his left.

“Ugh!” Was his response as he turned around to give them the full brunt of his very unamused look. It was nice to see the twins, but also painful in a way. They were twenty-two now and so grown up. Taller than he was and wearing matching sets of armor. The two were well known and well liked for their ability to fix damn near anything. They’d inherited their more rambunctious nature from their mother but their affinity with tech from their father. “I miss when you two used to be shy… and shorter than me.” They just chuckled at him.

“Come on, Haat’ika, be nice to your cousins.” Smiling at his father he held out his arm in greeting but it was ignored in favor of a hug. Leaning into the embrace he let himself take comfort from the man who had taken him in and raised him with love. It hadn’t always been easy, especially when they ran into some snags with his connection to the force, but he was happy with his life up to this point. Stepping back he looked at the man’s hair, which was beginning to grey a little, and a deep sadness filled him. He knew that he was going to outlive everyone he cared about.

“I know that look, son, and you need to let it go. It’s time to celebrate. It’s been twenty years since you came into my life and turned it upside down.” He chuckled and ruffled Haati’s hair, which loosened his warrior knot and had the long white strands falling every which way. He slapped his old man’s hand away and grumbled about needing to get it cut before tying it back up.

“Looks like a few of the newcomers are a bit confused.” Aran, the big idiot, reached over him to hand his brothers their drinks, looking down at him with a smug smirk. “You know, I always thought you’d be taller than me. Then you just kept shrinking and shrinking…” Haati rolled his eyes and clasped forearms with the eldest of his cousins.

“How’s Veryssa and the kids?” Aran’s expression softened.

“They’re doing alright. Just had our third and fourth. A boy, Keryk, and a girl, Tralaar.” He took a drink from the mug in his hand and looked over at his uncle. “You know, no one ever told us growing up that twins were a common occurrence in this family.” Drogan snorted.

“They must be common in Veryssa’s family too.” Aran nodded.

“She said as much. So it’s not all that surprising.” So his eldest cousin now had three girls and one boy. He did not envy him one bit. Especially if they were anything like their grandmother.

“When are you two going to settle down, huh?” Vorpan choked on his ale and had to lean over to cough it out again, his brother slapping is back while he laughed at his twin’s misfortune.

“As soon as someone who doesn’t care about engine grease and random power outages comes around, ba’vodu.” Drogan seemed to accept that as an answer before turning to look at him. Haati couldn’t help flinching before he shoved his initial reaction down as deep as he could, to be dealt with later. Or maybe never.

“You know how I feel about that sort of thing, buir.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. Thinking of the complications that could come from love and marriage when he would probably _outlive his own family_ was enough to keep him from even trying.

Catching Jango’s eyes from across the room he froze for a moment at the considering look he was being given. The man was leaning against a wall, drink in hand, and quietly talking with Myles about something. His Alor’s eyes suddenly shifted and Haati could see his shoulders tense. Not very many people would have noticed it but Myles stopped talking and watched their Alor warily. Following Jango’s line of sight he looked over at Drogan and blinked in confusion. His father was watching Jango as well, an unreadable expression on his face but a sharp look of appraisal in his eyes. It was very disconcerting.

In the last ten years Drogan and Jango hadn’t really interacted much. His father had taken over the Kurshi’cin Clan after his grandfather, Dral’cabur, passed away five years ago. So he’d left the Haat Mando’ade. He hadn’t been surprised when Haati chose to stay and fight, although him being granted the position of second in command over Myles, of all people, had thrown his old man for a loop. Something seemed to pass between the two men before his father turned back to him.

“I just want to see you happy, kiddo.” Was all his father said. Haati relaxed, smiling.

“I am, buir. We’re doing good work out here. Once we find out where those bastards are located we can end this once and for all.” Drogan placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m proud of you, son. Now. Go on and open some of those gifts. Your comrades are getting twitchy.” Haati made a face but did as he was told.

[Jango]

The party was in full swing. Sitting in a quiet corner he hid his grin in his ale when someone snagged his best friend for a drinking contest. If he was remembering correctly it was… Aran, Haati’s eldest cousin. The twins were cheering them on, one on Haati’s side and the other on Aran’s. He could see them taking bets for who would win and signed that Myles should bet on Haati for the both of them. The man didn’t drink much but when he got into it he could drink near about anyone under the table. Must have been a force user thing.

The chair to his left shifted before it suddenly became occupied. “Mand’alor.” The man said respectfully, inclining his head. Jango returned the greeting.

“Kurshi’cin’s clan head, what can I do for you?” He could feel a prickle along the back of his neck and sat up straighter, setting his mug down on the table. Drogan Kurshi’cin was a decently tall man with broad shoulders. From what he knew of Haati’s buir he preferred to take a snipers position, but that didn’t mean he was incompetent with hand to hand. If he was the one who trained Haati to be Mando’ad then he was someone to treat with respect, and an appropriate amount of wariness.

“I heard about Galidraan, what a mess it could have been.” Jango stiffened but nodded.

“If it wasn’t for Haati stalling the jetii the ambush would have caught us entirely off guard.” He admitted easily.

“And got shot twice for his involvement.” He clenched his jaw hard enough to hurt. Drogan shook his head. “Don’t worry. I know more than anyone what kind of shit my son can get into if you take your eyes off him for even a moment.” The man watched the playful competition with an air of amusement.

“He’s good at following orders. It’s when you don’t tell him not to do something that everything goes to hell.” The man snorted, smiling knowingly.

“I know my son well. Which is why I know just how naive he can be about some things.” The man turned on the chair to face him completely. “Been hearing some rumours going around. I thought they might be the same nonsense that gets spread around for a laugh now and then, to keep up morale.” The man’s entire body seemed completely relaxed but there was something steely in his eyes.

“Not sure I follow.” There were a lot of rumours floating around. After their success at Galidraan more and more people had decided to swear to him and follow the Haat Mando’ade. With them came all kinds of gossip and odd misunderstandings, which fed the rumor mill.

“Before I saved Haati from those cowards trying to kill him, I’d never thought I’d have a family of my own. My sister had kids and I was content to watch over them the rest of my life. Then this quiet kid with a brain injury starts following me around like I’m the only person in the whole galaxy.” Jango’s eyes widened slightly. While Haati was pretty open about his past as a jetii and his life after he’d sworn to the Resol’nare he had never talked about the time between. “He was a kind little thing, with wide eyes and an innocence about him that just screamed _‘I need protection.’_ Still does, really.” He smiled fondly at his son across the room. “It was the first time I’d ever felt like it would be nice to have my own kid.”

“Still not following.” He replied dryly, though he was actually curious to know the story of how, and where, Drogan found Haati and ended up adopting a jetii’ad.

“I’ll make this real simple, _Vhett_.” Jango stiffened at the traditional pronunciation of his name. “Mand’alor or no, if you break that boy's heart I will _end_ you.” His eyes narrowed dangerously at the older man. Drogan just gave him a tight smile and pointed. “And those lads over there will help me.” He didn’t even need to look to know who the man was referring to. All of Haati’s cousins were above average height. Most of the Kurshi’cin bloodline were quite tall and broad. “You understand me?”

Jango grit his teeth until they creaked but gave him a stiff nod of acceptance. Drogan leaned back in his chair, still looking completely relaxed.

“Good. Now, word of advice.” His eyes nearly rose into is hairline. First a threat and now advice? Really? “Haati isn’t good at showing affection.” Jango frowned. “Oh he’ll hug someone, pat someone on the back, roughhouse, all that. But he doesn’t know a lot about _intimacy_.” Jango’s face felt warm and he suddenly found the wall fascinating. Quickly he picked up his mug to take a swig of ale. It helped hide his sudden discomfort.

“He was a jetii, remember? I don’t think they taught him anything about love or relationships.” Would this be something Jaster would have taken him aside to talk about? Or maybe his buir, if he hadn’t been murdered by Kyr’tsad. “So if you’re going to try anything make sure you tell him your intentions first. Otherwise it’ll go right over his head.” He let out an exasperated sigh.

“Something else to remember. His lifespan will always be longer than yours. Haati is afraid to get close to anyone because he doesn’t want to see his loved ones fading away while he remains the same.” Jango looked up at the banner and nodded grimly. His best friend had always been up front about his strange biological quirk. Everyone just filed it away as another force user thing. But he knew better.

“Don’t think I could forget.” Every time one of the older warriors passed away, or chose to leave to help train the next generation, he could see the distant sadness in his friend’s eyes.

“Does his age bother you?” Jango looked at the older man with a deep frown.

“No.” All it really meant was that Haati had lived through more shit than most people his biological age had. Drogan smiled at him.

“Good. Make sure you tell him that too.” Standing up from the table he looked down at Jango. “Take care of my son.”

Jango placed his right fist over his heart. “Haat, ijaa, haa'it.” He swore. Drogan nodded at him once then disappeared into the cheering crowd.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have some sappy/dorky romance.

44 BBY (3 Months after Galidraan)

Looking the combat knife over carefully he tested the edge and was pleasantly surprised. So far it was everything the merchant claimed. Now there was only one thing left to try. “Prove it.” He growled, setting the blade back down on the table. The male Twi’lek pursed his lips but nodded and picked up the blade. Setting it on a much sturdier table he motioned for Jango to go ahead. Pulling one of his blasters he shot the knife twice and watched the bolts of energy fizzle out. Holstering his blaster he turned to the merchant and inclined his head. “Let’s talk price.” The Twi’lek grinned.

Back at their home base he carried the package under one arm, ignoring the curious looks thrown his way. Spying a familiar face off to the side, talking with one of the newer recruits, he called out to her. “Cadha, have you seen Haati?” Her head snapped up, recognizing his voice.

“Yes, Alor. He’s with some of the new recruits in the training room, giving them a crash course on why it’s a bad idea to underestimate someone.” The grin that crossed her face was all mischief and smug satisfaction. Someone must have said something stupid. The new recruits always looked so damned surprised whenever they saw the Mand’alor and his command team for the first time. If Haati would stop playing down his own importance they might treat him with a bit more respect.

“Thanks. I’ll go see if any of them survived.” Cadha cackled and went back to her conversation.

Entering the main training room he leaned against a wall, noting the few others hanging around the edges of the mats and watching the show. Three fully armored recruits had surrounded the slender five-foot-five male. His hair was tied up in a warrior’s knot and he had shed the majority of his armor. There were a few bodies lying on the ground around them, letting out low moans of pain as they tried, and failed, to get back up. Someone sidled up next to him and Jango glanced at Myles with a smirk. “So who said what?” Myles let out a snort of amusement.

“Someone challenged his authority, said they wouldn’t listen to some pipsqueak baby face.” Jango’s brows rose into his hairline. “Then they questioned the kad’au on his hip, asked who he stole it from, and all hell broke loose.” Well. They certainly deserved what was coming to them then. Jango’d had his own smattering of challengers to deal with the last couple months. Although his were quickly dwindling as word continued to spread through the system about the Haat Mando’ade.

“Went shopping?” Myles asked, looking at the package. Jango went completely still.

“It’s a gift.” He muttered, cheeks turning pink. Myles watched him for a moment before bursting into laughter. He was lucky it coincided with Haati flipping one of the recruits over his head to go crashing into a wall, otherwise they would have attracted too much attention for Jango’s liking.

“A gift, Jango? Or a _gift_.” He gave the man a narrowed eyed glare but his friend just snickered all the more. Well, he had to tell someone. Myles could run interference for him if he needed it. He mulled it over for a moment, glad that Myles was a patient man and waited for him to answer.

“Fine. It’s a courting gift.” He didn’t think he needed to specify who it was for. Not with the downright knowing smirk on Myles’ face.

“I’ll see if I can keep the others occupied while you snag your cyare.” Jango turned to grin back at his friend.

“I saw Cadha on the way here. Is that a new cape she’s wearing?” Myles’ mouth snapped shut so fast Jango could hear his teeth clack together.

They heard a loud thump and looked over to find the last recruits had joined the others on the floor. If they were lucky they’d only be sore for a couple of days. Haati tried to be careful not to lay anyone up in the med bay for too long. Not when they needed every body down on the ground fighting.

Haati turned to one of the more skilled newcomers, a kid that practically lived in his shadow. Jerrik was a half Twi’leki half human with a mind as sharp as a saber. The pale brown teen handed over his mentor’s armor, babbling away about the fight excitedly. A hand on Jango’s shoulder brought his attention back to Myles, who gave him an encouraging look before he went to clean up the mess. Some of the recruits would have to be sent to medical. At least one of them had a nasty black eye and another’s nose was still bleeding.

Once Haati had finished putting his armor back on Jango made a high pitched whistling sound to catch his attention. He caught the man’s curious eyes and motioned back out the door. Without saying a word Haati followed him into the hall, motioning for his little shadow to stay behind.

“What’s new with you?” He asked when he finally caught up.

“Nothing. Just need to talk to you for a minute.” Shrugging Haati fiddled with his vambraces, hiding a wince. He probably had a couple of nasty bruises from fighting the recruits without armor but it was a lesson none of them would ever forget. All it took was one training session or one glimpse of him on the battlefield and the newcomers would fall in line.

“Jango, where are we going?” There was a hint of amusement in his voice as he acknowledged a few familiar faces, his lightsaber and twin blasters tapping gently against his kama as he walked.

“Somewhere quiet.” Jango replied, pushing his nervousness aside for the moment. He knew that Haati could sense emotions and didn’t want him to suspect anything.

Haati let out a low hum and side-eyed him, looking a cross between intrigued and concerned.

When they made it to his quarters Haati was frowning slightly, though he didn’t say anything as they entered the room. Closing the door Jango locked it so no one could enter from outside and disturb them. Haati was watching him now, differently colored eyes filled with worry. Jango waved a hand in the air dismissively. “Don’t look so worried, nothing happened. I just wanted to talk to you without interruption.” Catching the amusement in his voice his best friend finally relaxed.

“Alright then, what’d you need to talk to me about that’s so secretive we’re doing it here in your quarters alone?” There was a hint of teasing in Haati’s voice and mischief in his eyes that made heat rush through Jango’s body. He knew that Haati meant it innocently but now that he was more aware of the man and his own feelings for him it was difficult not to take what he said as something more. He coughed into his fist to clear the lump that had formed in his throat. Striding forward he held out the box. Haati looked at it quizzically for a moment before he took it. With a quick glance up at his face Haati got the hint and opened the package.

[Haati]

Lifting the combat knife out of the box he examined the engraved blade carefully. “Jango… what…?” It was clear that the blade was made of a very expensive material, the faint shimmer along it’s length in the light was proof enough. On one side of the blade was the Kurshi’cin clan emblem, the three stylized chevrons that made up the white tree and the triangle at the bottom for the base. On the other side of the blade was the mythosaur skull, traditional symbol of the Mand’alor, with Jaster’s feather behind it. Jango’s own clan emblem. The emblem he’d made for himself as Mand’alor and head of clan Fett.

“It’s a gift.” Haati looked up at him, expression unimpressed with the simple description. It was pretty fuckin obvious it was a gift, it had his emblem engraved into the blade. But his birthday had been a month ago and Jango looked far too nervous for it to be a late birthday present. The man cleared his throat, face flushed. “A _courting_ gift, Haati.” Haati froze in place, eyes going wide.

“A cour- what!?” Jango watched him, dark eyes unwavering even as the force roiled with his tumultuous emotions. Beneath his nervousness Haati could sense the deep well of his emotions, carefully hidden behind his natural shields. Looking down at the gift then back up at Jango he chewed on his bottom lip. Putting the knife back in the box and setting it down on a nearby table he tentatively stepped closer to the man he had considered his best friend and sole ruler since they were teens. Hesitantly he reached out, unsure. Jango, like always, seemed to anticipate what he was trying to do. With a reassuring smile he took Haati’s hand and pulled him closer.

Standing this close to Jango he had to crane his neck to look up into his fierce brown eyes. Jango leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, chuckling as Haati’s face turned red. Closing his eyes he carefully touched Jango’s mind, waiting for the shields to drop. The moment they did he was almost overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of emotion. Jango had a habit of bottling up his emotions and using them when he needed them most, making him seem almost cold to most people. But to those who knew better they understood he was a deeply feeling man.

“Stars, Jango…” What he was experiencing right now was enough to bring tears to his eyes, it was an echo of the care and affection he felt for his best friend. Laced throughout was a feeling of want and need so strong it almost ached. Jango wanted him by his side and needed him to be safe. It was loyalty, love, and possessiveness all in one. “H-how long?” He heard, as well as felt, Jango let out a chuckle.

“Galidraan, when I almost lost you.” Feeling shy he opened his eyes as he slowly withdrew from he man’s mind. “Haati.” His voice was so quiet, soft, this close. He could feel the gentle warmth of breath on his skin. “Be my cyare. Stay by my side.” His heart beat loudly in his chest. He wanted so desperately to say yes but… he shouldn’t.

Jango must have seen something in his eyes. His arms tightened, drawing Haati closer. “Don’t you dare.” He growled. “I don’t care about your age, and neither should you.” He opened his mouth to reply but was quickly shut down. “No, you listen to me. We’re at war. You or I could die during the next raid. There’s no guarantee that we’ll come out of any battle unscathed. I deserve to be happy, _you_ deserve to be fucking happy.” All the protests he had come up with died in his throat. “There’s only one question you need to answer; _do you want this_?”

All of his thoughts came to a screeching halt. Was this what he wanted? Jango had been with him for years as a leader, a work partner, and a best friend. He cared for him in a way he had never cared for anyone else before. Without thinking of the consequences, for once, he finally voiced what he really wanted. “Yes. I-I want this.” The smile that crossed Jango’s face was somewhere between triumph and unfettered joy. Pulling away slightly he pressed a kiss to Haati’s temple, making him blush.

“My cyar’ika.” Haati smiled and the force sang with happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Translations:
> 
> Kad’au- Lightsword or Lasersword, Mando word for a lightsaber.  
> Cyare- Loved, popular, beloved.  
> Cyar’ika- Darling, sweetheart.  
> Me’vaar ti gar? Or What’s new with you?- Basic question, the same vein as ‘How are you?’ Can also be used to ask a soldier for a sitrep. If a Mando asks you this, they expect an answer; it's literal. The response is Naas, or Nothing, indicating that nothing has changed in your situation and you’re doing fine.


	8. Professional Artwork: Haati Kurshi'cin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is NOT a new chapter!

Artwork by the _Amazing_ [PeachyProtist](https://www.deviantart.com/peachyprotist) on Deviantart.


	9. Professional Artwork: Drogan and Haati

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More artwork!  
> This time of Drogan and Haati when he was a kid.

Artwork by the absolutely wonderful [PeachyProtist](https://www.deviantart.com/peachyprotist) on DeviantArt! Please go check them out!  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd share it here too in case some people aren't subbed to Truth and Valor. Sorry for the double post if you are.


	10. New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jango and Haati bring the fight to Kyr'tsad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After so long I finally was able to finish this chapter! I'm still not happy with all the fighting scenes but I feel like it's better to move on than let it sit there forever.

44.5 BBY (6 Months after Galidraan)

It had been an exhausting six months of planning, intel gathering, and strategic raiding. Ever since the ambush on Galidraan, Jango had become like a man possessed. It wasn’t just the Haat Mando’ade who had been subjected to Kyr’tsad’s terrorist activities. While the pacifistic ‘Prime Minister’ of the New Mandalorians sat safely in his Sundari palace the people of the Mandalore system were left to fend for themselves. With every Kyr’tsad installation they destroyed, every raid they stopped, and every town they liberated, more and more Mando’ad were signing on to help fight. Each day that passed Haati’s partner was growing into the position of Mand’alor, his bearing more confident as his influence spread across the system. Even some of the major Clans were starting to throw in their lot and stand with them.

Now all of their hard work was about to pay off in a big way. It was time to bring the fight right to the enemy’s doorstep.

“Stay alive, Jango. You still need to lead our people once this shit is over.” A humorless grin was tossed his way through the holo.

“You stay alive too, no banthashit heroics like last time. Keep your damn helmet on.” Haati snorted in amusement.

“Oya Manda.” He said, rather than make promises he knew he couldn’t keep.

“Oya Manda.” There were no words of affection spoken between them. They’d agreed that while the war was still ongoing they wouldn’t be open about their relationship. It was just too dangerous. Thankfully words were no longer needed. Through their force bond he could feel Jango in the back of his mind, like a rising storm. He closed his eyes and took a moment to collect his thoughts. Behind him armored figures hid amongst the rocky outcropping, waiting on his command. In a minute he was going to be leading one of the largest raids he had ever been a part of. It was time to stop this pointless civil war once and for all. Slipping his helmet on he locked it in place and opened a comm channel.

“On my mark.” Looking down at the chrono on his vambrace he watched the numbers counting down. “Mark!” The loud explosions in the distance was the signal. It was the distraction team led by Myles. With all of Kyr’tsad’s attention on the forces attacking their front gate Haati’s smaller group of more mobile troops would be wholly unexpected.

Activating his jetpack he and the others quickly cleared the high walls of the compound, blasters drawn and already picking off targets. Rolling when his feet hit the ground he drew his lightsaber and cut down two Kyr’tsad guards. The vibrant green plasma of his blade left sweeping afterimages as he redirected blaster bolts back at their wielders.

Clearing out the main grounds of the compound was the easy part. Flushing out and dealing with the members of Kyr’tsad would be more difficult. “Kebiin! Vorpan! Get those doors open!” He heard two identical voices acknowledge his order at the same time before the twins got to work. On the other side of the compound Whrk and Ruger from Myles’ team would be doing the same.

“Alor, we’ve secured the landing pad!” So far everything was going to plan. But something in his gut told him that it was about to get complicated.

“Doors are open!” Force pushing an enemy guard into the ground hard enough to crack the dusty earth he waved the small team of infiltrators onward. Once they gained control of the main computer there would be nothing Kyr’tsad could do to stop them taking over.

Following behind the infiltration group he kept an eye out for any nasty surprises. Kyr’tsad were Mando enough to fight them face to face but he knew they had to have some kind of security system. No Mando’ad would leave their home undefended.

Something in the force cried out in warning. Haati whipped around, arm coming up, as someone launched themselves at him from a shadowed corridor. Instinctively he dodged a kick that would have taken his head off and lashed out at his attacker. The woman jumped back, a wicked looking knife held firmly in one hand. He could tell from the way she moved that she was a seasoned warrior. But something about her in the force felt brittle, yet familiar. It was hard to pin her down and her mind was a tempest of emotions.

“Go!” He barked at the others, keeping his focus solely on the woman. Thinking him distracted she lashed out again, her anger and devotion to Kyr’tsad sharp as a razor. He saw an opening and punched her in the side, between the plates of her armor. She hissed out a curse and lunged at him, ignoring the pain in an attempt to finish the fight. Haati would admit that she was a formidable opponent.

Whenever he found a good opening to land a killing blow, however, he hesitated. The force around him was warning him not to kill her. If he did then something terrible would happen.

Frustrated with his persistent dodging and lack of intent to end the fight she grabbed a grenade from her belt. Alarmed he shoved her against the wall with the force, pinning her there. Her helmet, which had already been knocked askew, fell to the ground and rolled down the corridor. Natural blonde hair brushed her shoulders as she glared at him, brown eyes piercing.

“Jetii!?” She growled breathlessly, body trembling as she tried to move despite the immense pressure holding her still.

“No.” Grabbing the grenade from her hand he made sure it was deactivated before attaching it to his own belt. Looking up into her face he felt that flicker of recognition again but shoved it aside. “Not everyone who has the force is a jetii.” Her eyes narrowed as he raised a hand in front of her face.

“Mando’ad draar digu.” She snarled at him. _‘A Mandalorian never forgets.’_ It was a declaration. If he didn’t kill her she would come after him for revenge later.. Haati gave her a vicious grin in return. He’d like to see her try.

“Sleep.” She fought him for a moment, her natural barriers surprisingly strong, but that brittleness he had seen earlier was a weakness. He felt her stop struggling as her eyes slipped closed and her head lolled forward. Letting out a heavy breath he gently lowered her to the ground. “Vhipirla, I have a prisoner I need someone to sit on. Probably best if you sedate her.”

“Why are you taking a prisoner, Alor?” He grimaced.

“It’s a force thing. All I know is that she’s important and that if she dies something terrible will happen.” The young medic was silent on the other end for a moment.

“Where?” Came her exasperated voice.

“I’ll put a tracker on her.” Pulling out one of the many tracking beacons he kept on his belt he slipped it into one of the woman’s pouches. Then he sent the signal to Vhipirla.

Leaving her there in the hall made him feel anxious but he still had a job to do. He couldn’t waste time babysitting a prisoner.

Heading further inside he found the control room where the twins were fast at work slicing into the system. Kebiin glanced at him. “Nice of you to join us, cousin. We’ve got a problem.” Striding over to the monitors he looked over the man’s shoulder. His eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Is that what I think it is?” Leaning closer to the monitor he watched the lone figure in Kyr’tsad colors swing around what looked to be a black lightsaber. A tingle of excitement ran down his spine and he couldn’t help grinning in anticipation. “Well. That looks like a job for me. I’ll send someone to take my place watching your back.”

“Don’t get killed. Uncle would never forgive us.” Haati’s expression softened at the mention of his father.

“I don’t plan on dying any time soon.” _‘Besides, Jango would find a way to bring me back from the dead so he could yell at me for dying on him.’_ He had no doubt that if anyone could find a way, Jango would.

“Where is that?” He asked in a more serious tone. Kebiin glanced at the monitor and started typing. Pulling up a map he highlighted the fastest route.

“I’ll lead you there. Stars watch over you.” Haati looked down at the outstretched arm. With a smile he clasped forearms and clapped a hand against Kebiin’s shoulder, gripping it firmly to reassure him.

It didn’t take long to find the fight. His soldiers were trying to shoot the honorless bastard but none of their shots were getting through. For someone who didn’t have the force the man wielding the darksaber was damned good. When Haati’s soldiers saw him they stopped firing and took a step back. They all knew how this was going to end.

“Vizla!” He called out, raising the volume of his helmet’s speaker so he could be heard above the sounds of battle. “I challenge you to a duel! Fight me like a proper Mando or prove to everyone what a coward you are!” The sounds of battle suddenly died down, as if no one could believe he’d just issued a challenge in the middle of a bloody battlefield.

“Hah! Do you expect me to fall for that? Your jetii tricks won’t work on me!” Haati growled.

“Your Darksaber versus my blades. No jetii tricks, no words, just skill.” Unbuckling his belt he tossed it back toward his soldiers. Over the comm he could hear a few of them cursing under their breaths. Holding his lightsaber unlit in one hand he very pointedly turned around, showing that his only weapons were the lightsaber in his hand and the combat knife on his thigh. Turning back he raised his head and stared straight at Wer.

Without a word Vizla unhooked his own belt and tossed it to one of his own men. Haati let out a sigh of relief. The Kyr’tsad were crazy and fanatical but they were obsessed with following the old ways. He had hoped Wer wouldn’t back down from a direct challenge. Even if they believed Haati to be dar’manda or aruetii, backing down from a direct challenge would have tarnished his name. As the wielder of the darksaber and a descendant of Mand’alor Tarre Vizla he couldn’t afford to look weak or cowardly.

Stepping forward, darksaber in hand, Wer watched his every move with careful consideration. Haati met him in open space, stopping a few feet away. Taking a slow breath he settled into a familiar stance and shut out everything but his opponent. He could feel the force flow through him, sharpening his instincts, but he didn’t reach out to it. The Kyr’tsad might consider him a jedi but he had long since left that life behind. He was Mando enough to honor the sacred tradition of a duel. He would not use the force.

Of course, he didn’t really need to.

Vizla jumped forward and slashed at him, coming from an angle that would be difficult to deflect. Haati ducked the swing and grabbed the knife from his thigh sheath. With a cry he thrust the knife toward Wer. Instead of dodging, like he should have, the man swung the darksaber to intercept the blade, expecting it to be shorn in two like any other metal. It was his arrogant self assurance that would be his downfall.

The moment the two blades met the darksaber sputtered and died. Wer let out a surprised exclamation. It was the last thing he ever did. Haati’s lightsaber followed the cortosis infused knife and with one swift stroke the man’s head was separated from his body. In the silence that followed the only sound was Wer’s helmet clattering and body slumping to the ground.

Sliding his knife back into its sheath he picked up the darksaber and examined it carefully. Looking toward the remaining members of Kyr’tsad he raised the hilt over his head. “By right of combat I claim the Darksaber! If anyone wishes to challenge me, do so now!” After a long moment of silence he smirked. “Surrender your arms!”

In the end some of them tried to resist and were quickly dispatched. The rest surrendered and Haati was hit with an odd mix of despair and elation from the prisoners. Not everyone had joined Vizla and his crusade by choice.

Jerrik handed him back his belt with hushed awe. Thanking the teen he buckled his belt around his waist and felt the familiar comfort of kama brush against his legs.

Reports were coming in. Kyr’tsad hadn’t realized just how many warriors had joined the Haat Mando’ade. They were quickly overrun. Those who didn’t surrender were put down without mercy.

“Alor, I’ve got your prisoner sedated and in a separate cell to the others. Was there anything else you needed me to do?” He relaxed minutely.

“Set up a watch, she was an assassin and highly skilled. I have no doubt she has a couple tricks left.” Or that she had a stubborn streak a mile wide. “Oh, and try to find out who she is. It could be important.”

“Yes, Alor.”

[Jango]

Walking down the ramp he nodded at the two who’d come to greet him. One was clearly on guard duty and the other was carting around a set of tools. “Mand’alor.” They said as one, bowing their heads respectfully. A grin spread across his face. It felt damn good to come back from a mission to see things were already taken care of.

“Mando’ade.” He replied with an acknowledging nod. Absentmindedly he activated his tracking system and switched to a specific beacon. Noticing this the guard cleared their throat.

“If you’re looking for Alor Kurshi’cin he’s currently taking a meal in the mess hall.” Jango’s eyes narrowed, he didn’t like the underlying concern in their voice. It set him on edge.

“What’s wrong?” He growled. The mechanic looked over at them then away again, wincing. The guard was silent for a moment before sighing.

“Alor Kurshi’cin hasn’t really slept the past few days. He keeps assuring the medics that he has the Force so he’s fine but…” But everyone was worried about him. Figures. This had happened a few times before. Whenever his cyare was worried about something that he couldn’t fix he’d drown himself in work to try and forget about it. It took his cousins or Jango pestering him to finally get him to sleep properly, if only so they didn’t worry about him. If even Kebiin and Vorpan couldn’t calm the man down it had to be something particularly bad.

“What happened?” The guard stiffened and Jango knew he wouldn’t like the answer.

“Kyr’tsad had a group of kids locked up here along with their other prisoners. Started with indoctrination early. None of the kids would trust us, except for Alor Kurshi’cin.” Jango cursed under his breath. He’d thought Kyr’tsad couldn’t get any lower, but kidnapping kids? That was a whole new level.

“Their parents?”

“Some of them were prisoners themselves, they were reunited. But the rest are orphans.” Jango would have to deal with that sooner rather than later. Finding the kids new homes with patient and caring guardians who could undo the damage done by Vizla’s insanity. But at the moment he had a different priority.

“I’ll deal with it. You’re dismissed.” The guard bowed their head again and hurried back to their patrol. Jango held back a groan. Rather than dwell on the craziness of the very dead Tor Vizla he turned his attention to finding his errant partner.

Walking through the facility he was pleased to see that all the Kyr’tsad symbols had been completely erased and new Haat Mando’ade symbols had replaced them. Whenever he passed by his people they would stop what they were doing to salute him or bow their heads in respect. He returned as many greetings as he could but by his insistent stride they must have realized he was on a mission, so to speak.

Thinking back over the last three months he’d been courting Haati he couldn’t help but marvel at how much his cyare had opened up to him. He hadn’t realized how shy Haati actually was beneath his teasing jokes and his realistic flirty persona on jobs. Haati was self conscious about his appearance, especially his pale skin and slender physique. He joked about not looking very intimidating with a slender body, short stature, and a small round face, but Jango had never really thought about it before. All he saw was a competent warrior who trained hard and cared about their comrades. Now that Jango was more conscious about his feelings for the former jetii however… biting the inside of his cheek he pushed those thoughts away for the time being. He had other shit to deal with right now than daydreaming about his cyare and the little to no time they’d had together to start exploring the change in their relationship.

Asking someone how close he was to the mess he was quickly pointed in the right direction and thanked the young Mando’ad, who looked awed to have spoken with him even for a moment. Coming into the mess hall he spied a familiar set of armor and rather than go around the outside of the tables, it was considered more polite, he strode right through past to the open center of the room. A head of white hair perked up from the other side of the room and looked right at him. Even with his helmet on their eyes locked and it was like there was no one else in the world. Just the two of them. Eyes like gemstones quickly swept over his body and Jango felt a fond smile tug at his lips. Of course the first thing his cyare would do is search for any new injuries.

The hall quieted as everyone finally took in the appearance of their Mand’alor. With one last comment to Cadha, Myles got up and fell in behind him to show his support, as always. Even when he had no idea what Jango was about to do.

Haati rose from his seat with the grace of a predator, a serious look on his face but playful twinkle in his eyes. Hopping effortlessly over the table, using a force trick no doubt, he landed a few feet from Jango and stepped forward to meet him. Before Jango could even open his mouth to address him Haati stepped forward and knelt in one smooth motion. Head bowed he placed his left arm across his body, fist over his heart. “Jango Fett of Clan Fett, Head of House Mereel, King of all Mandalore.” Jango felt something tighten in his chest as his heartbeat began to pick up speed. He had no idea what Haati was planning. “I, Haati Kurshi’cin, fought Wer Vizla in a duel to the death.” His breath stuttered and he sucked in a hard breath of air that thankfully wasn’t picked up by the mic in his helmet.

Reaching down to his belt Haati unhooked a very familiar hilt and raised it above his head so that everyone could see it, although he didn’t rise from the ground. Lowering it Haati rolled it over his palm to rest and set his other hand beneath the hilt before holding it in front of him, raising his arms to a height where Jango could easily reach with one hand. “Although mine by right of combat I wish to gift it to you, as a show of faith and fealty. I know you will be the one to reunite the system and rule fairly over your people.” The room, which had been bustling moments before, was a silent as the grave. Hundreds of eyes watched the two of them carefully and no one even dared to breathe.

After the silence had dragged on Haati finally looked up, his eyes searching and uncertain. It was then that Jango realized that as a former Jedi his cyare could literally feel the crystal in the lightsaber. He knew the history of the Darksaber from both the Jedi archives and the Mandalorian histories. It had been his dream to hold that piece of history and now… now he was offering it to Jango as gift.

“Oh fuck this!” He cursed, reached up to rip off his helmet, and threw it behind him with the certainty that Myles would catch it before it hit the ground. “Don’t be such an idiot.” He growled. Grabbing him by the pauldrons he hauled the other man to his feet. Haati fumbled the Darksaber for a moment before grabbing onto Jango’s arm with one hand, so as not to trip, and holding the saber in the other. Before he could react Jango pressed his lips against his cyare’s, shoving as much affection, pride, longing, and joy as he could across their bond.

Haati leaned eagerly into him as noise erupted around them. When they ran out of breath they pulled apart, panting slightly. Haati flushed a bright pink all the way to his ears and Jango couldn’t help the giant grin spreading across his own face. The cheering turned to laughter and well wishes as Jango put an arm around his cyare’s waist and pulled him snug against his side.

With the threat of Kyr’tsad gone there was no reason to hide their relationship from the other Haat Mando’ade.

Sliding one hand down Haati’s arm he gently wrapped a hand around his wrist and lifted the Darksaber into the air. “Kyr’tsad is broken! Let it be known that anyone who continues their terrorist attacks is Dar’manda and I will hunt them to the ends of the galaxy! If anyone renounces their ways and comes forward unarmed I am willing to hear their case and accept them, as long as they have committed no heinous crimes.” It was generous, really, and he would be considered soft by some of the clans who had suffered hard under Kyr’tsad but it he did not wish to become like the enemy he and Jaster had tried so hard to defeat. “Our people must be free to live without fear of each other! We will stand united!” There was a moment of quiet awe before his people erupted into more cheers. Some of the former prisoners of Kyr’tsad looked so relieved it was almost palpable.

It was sad that his people had such unreliable leaders for so long that they’d forgotten what hope looked like. Well. Jango would bring it back to them with his bare hands if he had to.

Lowering their arms he leaned in to give Haati a gentle kov’nyn and smirked when his cyare’s cheeks pinked again. He would never get tired of that. “Myles, you’re in charge. Unless something goes spectacularly wrong don’t contact us until mid-meal tomorrow.” A couple of whoops and cries of ‘Oya!’ met this statement and Jango chuckled. 

“You live to embarrass me.” Haati grumbled, head down as he tried to hide his face from all of the staring. Jango lifted his chin and kissed him again, this time slowly.

“It’s rare to see you flustered. Can’t help it if I think it’s cute.” Shrugging shamelessly he tugged on Haati’s waist and motioned with his head toward the landing pad where he’d left Jaster’s Legacy. His cyare shook his head at him with a small smile and let himself be lead along.

“…you never did accept my gift.” Haati said after they’d left the crowded mess and were walking down the more deserted halls.

“I’d end up cutting my own head off with that thing.” Haati rolled his eyes at him. “So, either you can keep it or you take the responsibility of teaching your Mand’alor how to wield the dha’kad’au.” Haati’s eyes widened then turned pensive.

“I’ll teach you. If you’re ill suited we can always stop.” Jango hummed in response and they descended into a companionable quiet the rest of the way to the ship. There they could strip out of their armor, have a nice shower, and sleep for as long as they damn well wanted. It was well deserved after everything they’d just accomplished.

The rest could come after they’d had a nice nap. Jango was pretty sure he could coax his shy nu’jetii into a bed, even if it was just to hold one another and make certain they were both alive, well, and together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Translations;
> 
> Haat Mando’ade- True Mandalorians, Jango’s factio of Mandalorians who want to be honorable mercenaries.  
> Kyr’tsad- Deathwatch, a terroristic group of Mandalorians who want to bring back the Crusades.  
> Oya Manda- Expression of Mandalorian solidarity and perpetuity: emotional and assertive.  
> Verde- Soldiers, gender neutral term.  
> Dar’manda- The state of being Not Mandalorian. A traitor to Mandalorian culture. It is highly insulting. Different from Aruetii, someone who is an outsider.  
> Aruetii- Traitor, Outsider, or Foreigner.  
> Kama- A kilt-like piece of flexible anti-blast armor worn from the waist.  
> Beskar’gam- Armor made with Mandalorian Iron.  
> Buy’ce- Helmet  
> Cyare- Beloved  
> Kov’nyn- A headbutt, but also the name for the pressing together of foreheads which is considered a type of kiss to Mandalorians.  
> Dha’kad’au- The Darksaber.


End file.
